Part One
Nascent Craving

The insular heart unsealed; pearled eyes
Breach parapets of stone— periled shield,
The sweetest ****—
A threatening wonder and irrefragable synergy,
Nervous routes of cognition  
In this nascent, amorous craving.
Locked and abased,
Dissonance lends pathos — euphoric and onerous,
Disconsolate cries curb sublimation,
The regnant bleed diffusing — fervid lust
Fondled, tactile surfaces in throbbing anticipation.

Sullen, aft a veil of laughter,
Visceral aftermath, out of
The ardent ash,
Burns a thirst;
Insuperable numbness and ache.
Efflorescent intimacy,
Table for two
Enraptured in new alliance,
Élan vital (psyche);
Urgent dialect petitions
Equivocation, jocularity blending
Provocation with indecision,
Noted lilt of descending inhibition.

Adrift, the incessant Now;
As occasion inexorably diminished;
Resonant simpatico tending,
Numinous amity;
Heard conversant, cognitive idioms—
Lassitude, time-eaten pangs of the unhinged heart,
Wounds axiomatic,
In disquieting synergy,
Nibbling, the circumference—
Misery’s permeating truth;
None immune, all trundle incongruously past,
Facing intrepid savages.

Licitly felt, reverberations of Amor
Whence the heart behaves;
Measured cadence, pulse elevating—
Treasured lover, contemplative muse;
Undulating clasp, inflated bone of absence;
Incarnation — a woman,
Beyond prosaic;
Ineffable adoration pours in certitudes of verse,
Elenita, enclothed —virtue unvarnished;
Reservoir intrinsic, poised advocate of the innocent:
The crooked lines of insolence,
Brazen culture of neglected youth.
Perceptive blue stare, sensitized tears—
Plaintively, evincing her injustice ago.

Part Two
Tendered Senses

Siren silence, eruptive blush, ampler between phrases
In dulcet tones — stirring discourse;
Foments rebellion, the strife beneath— his ****,
Out of its vast reserve,
Penetrate the narrowed ambit, vaguely announced.
Groping hands, migrating the sensual member
Stern faces grimacing— mirror in abrasion,
Under the blind surf of consent;
Burrowing ambiguity, emerging torsion,
Plunge, enlisted and content in the sea;
Subsumed in the nonverbal cue,
Persuasion’s plea,
Quelled in the post cerebral assent.

Piercing eyes parallel crystalline waters of Lake Tahoe.

An untouched portion of his awareness remains aloof,
Palpable in the subsequential quiet,
Obsequious and febrile, they sinned on sofas;
Peregrine predilections quenched and viscid—
Serenely requited, the room breathes her presence,
Limp, figures *******, mantled in adolescent torpor.

Erudition in bloom, trust undoubted,
Illuminating, satiating; tempest calm—
Under canvas
Terrain soaked and sodden,
Postliminary — rains of invalidation.
Allowance and permission
Recalibrate, salivate, shortly only—
Initiate, obliged consecration, appraising
Curvatures of the spine,
Stuns him obeisant, her femenine pulchritude,
Propinquity inciting vigor,
Emergent allure, the updriven
Tower of wood sprung from the blanket.

Suffused in ether, purring streams of remembrance
Vaginal honeyed dew, sung into
Orchids, remnants of remember;
Drenched down the cynosure of devotion;
Succulent view, diaphanous pantied bottom;
Halcyon mist, saporous wine — compliance of the will,
Freed fires wander,
Pliable rind, twin plums dripping,
Abject confession, dispatching doubt
In tendered senses,
Pivotal tree, lavender Jacaranda holds the key,
Unfurled, cindered vulnerability.

Half-denuded skin invites confessional savor
Acutely bubbled rear, fleshly furnished denim;
Sultry visit, San Ramon Valley in the fall,
Strewed limbs splendid, flowing filmy;
Imagination yields—
Bursting silk congealed
Across deft thighs, ambrosial thong draping ankles,
Grazing ascension, the curvaceous trajectory
Nose inflamed with fragrance,
Inhaling, climb of acquiescence,
The ****** weal, amid the globed fruit,
Focal intention — ploughed lance thrusting,
Absconding, the ancillary perfume of essence.

Perceiving avid validation,
Swimmingly, amid the monstrous gaze.
  
Humid skies simper dank, set swell the incense of Eros,
Surge of poetry engorged
The flame levened shaft,
Nimble ******* flounce, spill the harboring mouth;
Moist hands merging, unfettered,
Weave in supplication,
Vicinity voicing, enmeshed diversion;
Supple and spherical behind
Posterior arch, milky-skin against the lip—
Ripeness jostling their complacency;
Lapped the mooring, ridden decisively;
Recapitulating— spumed forth, bellied over hips warmth.
Abandon the dirge of self-pity
Late under ego’s trance.
  
Part Three
Present Tenses

Tempting trespass across sacred gardens,
Flowering, scandal set luminous: attachment—
Consensual, their corresponsive fear;
Protean manifestations— evocative, perpetual
Unutterable contention in a fictive resolve,
Deliberating the merits of their widely disparate tastes in coffee,
Amorously touring wine, let’s drowse through the gnarled vine.
Sundry deficiencies pale, once contrasted;
The beatific vision—
Material substance unaccompanied,
Imperceptible, tear-streamed cheeks in synch,
Ventral kiss, peak of carnal perfection,
Reminiscence— flesh violent with Love.

Fiction knew to meander the innominate rift,
A tincture of irony soften misdeeds
Immense as the sea.
Insolvent beast stippled with sapience—
Unmasked, the fabric of delusion;
Dependence smothering the disciplined heart
Resentment put up for release.

Waste of residual years
Fate’s apportion, scars bleakly observed;
Chastened by heartache, engulfing fervor
Too faint to recapture.
Vague glimpses dry—
Hypervigilant his defenses,
Veritable suspensions, embers lit linger;
Slender walls of solidity, the horizoned self,
Faith and reason in concert — stone levels of elucidation.

Fractured bones of distance, emanate a rigid salience,
Another ponderous night of absence—
Lingering, cauldron of dearth as indifference ushers,
The quotidian coil of contrition.
Tearful pallor, sequestered —ciphering time and solitude;
The unkissed mouth, his restive brow;
Suspend in the approximate span.
                      
After Lucid alliterations are spoken
Devoid of her face, his lover’s nudge—
The man nurtures his hurt.
Anxious as seldom unscarred,  
Venus’s susurrations,
In present tenses,
Kissed by her serenades of integration—
Notwithstanding metaphysic intrusion,
No chain stays unbroken,
Postponed drifts of deferment left unspoken,
Reverberations of amor.

© 2013 W. S. Warner

Porcelain Spider Under the Cellar Door

She sees a person as spool of yarn,
Taking your lifeline and threading it through her own needle,
Round and round you spin as she turns you into something to adorn,
Such an excellent seamstress the mindful spider is,
Sowing painted backless dresses to give the illusion of a spine,
Missing fragmented fractions of her web, she’s blind,
Stark, stacked illusions of what lies beyond a cellar door,
In the inner shadows of the light,
She fears no height, though bore in darkness,
Leg and fang she fought,
Fighting for frail frivolity of position and pose,
******* parts of souls in her aesthetic but potent web,
Missing lines, lanes, but layered intricately allowing illusion of a periled princess,
On her painted round ****, a red hourglass turns to eyes,
Dancing with half dead perspective “insects” assigning value,
Whispering lies,
Clinging to, now, a somewhat familiar light,
Never letting her eyes adjust she refuses to rise,
Periled perfection is her guise,
Hiding in the cracks of the steps and floor,
Content under the rusty bolted hinges of a cellar door,
She never has enough, even at the edge,
The rough taciturn of her mind is never set,
Keeping half dead insects, so long in her web,
Sometimes they expire,
Other times they break and breach her bountiful cacoon,
Falling into the abyss laying underneath that cellar door,
Some recover,
Some feel new found darkness never felt before,
She slides and falls frailly when situations slip from sight,
Using partially passed insects to patch her ornamental paint and aesthetic might,
Having brushed layers of color with their guts,
Shriveled, they fall away from her web,
Her web a half living, half dead farm
And she wails at their loss,
While spinning,
Another web..
She see a person as a spool of yarn...

Black shoelace, tied in knots
basks my face with paltry plots
stole my heart like summer's sin
heat is threatened by cool wind
        Rear view mirror, burned by glow
        reflects a frozen, fragile soul
        they appear, my warm woes
        white lies, turn from ash to coal
Crave smoke rings, periled fade
round' my solo fireplace
truths can't find their crumbs to trace
her sparrow, sings a love charade
        All my years, i'm alive
        caches in my brain's hard drive
        my White lies, wear a Black shoelace
        they delve deep, digest disgrace..

near gardens tall and winding,
whilst i savoured aphotic tea.


appeared that harrowing boy,
stygian herald bringing destiny.


inside, aside! i cried, i cried,
but none there heard my call.


my path was laid out, though four-fold
it was, before i fell the fall


then awakened from my forty-winks,
to a realm so alien and queer.


and O! the p-pain of my forearm,
known only by my good man Lear.


understand, under i stood!
beneath the sky of a shadow land.


brobdingnag could not compare,
nor calormen in the sand.


time and a time and a time again,
i periled through this epic place.


met mighty men and kings of old,
and stuck leviathan in 'er face!


o weary soul, tired tired tis true.
yet to the end did i hold fast.


til i'd learn't that humble shall be first,
and the first shall inded be last.

In the new being that dawns, must I
Console waste and falsehoods;
Used not to my romantic skies,
Nor my Victorian delight, tonight.

In the new human that lives, but I
Run like a murmur, and shadows;
Those misshapen, unnatural forms
Falling away into vernal decay.

In the new soul that breathes, yet I
Come to made solace and comfort;
With no romantic tenderness
And softness that tend to me.

In the new influence, the new smoke
But I taint my arts and visions;
And make blessed sonnets insincere,
Ridding of their appetite for me.

I was born in the modern, caught
Within the naught of being;
What carries this new feeling, I guess
My soul may not find rest.

I was urged to stay, and say
What the morose hold yet to tell
Not the honest of me; the truths
I may have fallen into silence.

I am only able to live at night;
Being true to dark, ******* sights,
That attract but no organism,
Nor living thoughts and modern insights.

I am only capable of misery;
Their arsons are killing to me,
I cannot paint all that rages in me,
They suspend my arts in dishonor.

Their poems bring about nothing;
My delights they have all killed,
Out of my aesthetic will,
Out of sane satire and parody.

Their art charters no bliss;
I am like the quiet of the sky,
In the midst of this war, I only say
None but the imagery of lies.

Their spouses enjoin ill kisses;
Coining sublime in our frights,
But never frightened like our tears,
Dwelling in our drained thoughts.

Their remarks make us dissolve;
Keeping art away like a spectre,
And dissect my love like a sombre,
Like they were the mere sober souls.

What if the poet in me, conformed
To those marks with no heartbeat;
And my angered words lost their form
Ending such good tones of their wit.

What if the worth in me, paid to them
The wanted chords and juggled songs;
For their ****** and erratic admission
But so not my final destination.

What if the written stopped to sing
To leave, and wish me just well;
How could I stay blind to frustration
How would I restrain such fevers?

What if the tune in me, made dead
By the modern’s hustled breath;
Sung by the engrained commonness,
Having lost its poetic madness.

What if the hours in me, silenced;
Made moroseness, and quiet
I have not been recalled anyway;
I have been silence like yesterday.

What if the seconds in me, tickled
And turned and bored me to dust
Would their hesitations ever last
Would they come to the truth?

What if the leaf in me, peopled
All of their impossible periled
To petrify and sicken my desire,
Shall I embrace mossy poems still?

What if the rose in me, tempted
To lose hold of trained purity;
Would my punishment rise in smoke,
Would I be chained to hell?

What if the love in me, stunned
To death, and its cordless vision;
I am never loved anyway,
Nor guarded, nor made of love.

Seven billion hearts
float amidst
crimson tides of
revolving tendrils.
Obscure in their
nature, forlorn
in their plight,
a path coalesces
from their pleasure
and pain.

On the wings
of angels,
do they fly?
Torn from their
natal host
in a vacancy
of eternal slumber,
do they reside?
Their leaking orifices
exude the lost prophecies
their primal heir
toiled for.
The timelessness of decay
in a vast plane of
logic and enigmatic
illusions.

With grandeur abreast,
wiped from the millennia
of ancient tales,
do they remain?
A mountain of reason
overlooking a murk laden
lake with prospects
aplenty conceals
the hidden wisdom of
their inner youth.
A barren pursuit
of friend
and foe.

Or inside their fever wrapped
marrows, do they fall?
Further from emancipation
to the gallows of
thought and ill-fated
treasons, do they fade?
An infallible musing
of periled destiny,
ripe with the
wounds of the
forgotten dust.
Their revelations a
twisted grove
of fate
and misfortune.

Seven billion hearts
float amidst
crimson tides of
revolving tendrils.
Once symbols of
idiosyncrasy now
footprints on a
black canvas, a single star
in a universe of eternity.
Simple in their movements
yet aloof
in their time.
A perpetual reminder
of the wondrous
before
and after.

Those ashes that makes wall ***** white painted
A candle which periled who borrow
that light of the night of mangier
When yesterday incinerates a tomorrow
Numb and I can't fight the fire with fire
A hundred times hotter than the sun
It ravages my skull, my soul's sins
Skin turns like a Blackened yero
which extends to all layers of the skin
O St. John may be it's not time for your festival
This Smokey place smells burnt funeral
houses that unfitted to gift for each
it made the eyes burn and watery
Isn't it about life or pressure cooker
for a new morn and a head with torn
Which full tank of misery and forlorn.

I ponder the thought of an empty moon.
Candlelight snuffed, thoughtlessly they consume
the thoughts of the mind, endless periled doom.
Do not fear, for we too shall join you soon.

Happily take the bullets in my hand.
Red wine poured out, trickling along the path.
Eyes wide in fear, survey the aftermath.
My knees buckle and I sink in the sand.

The slice of silver pierces my rib cage,
and the moonskin peels back, sighting my rage.

Bare hedonistic middle road,
So periled and yet amorized
By ladies I have soul adored,
Lean gentlemen who spent long nights
In speculation on the grave.
Ascension charts the harder shot,
With tattered sails on fire and grey,
Unguarded heart that's not yet stopped.
Fast falling stars escape my reach,
While dim & smoky neon dives
Swell up a piece of history.
Come lovers, give it two more trys.
The moon ignores my open ears.
I'll need your help to man the oars.